


Get Outta Here

by mssrj_335



Series: Sing Me the Blues [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'Why Don't You Do Right?', Assassin Gabriel, Blues AU, Blues Singer Sam, Chicago Blues, Harmonica Player Dean, Language, Like Whoa, M/M, No Period Typical Homophobia, Nothing explicit, Sam does a Jessica Rabbit, Sam looks good in suit, Sorry it's short, Voice Kink, and pretentious, but he's barely there, cheesy af, implied pining Sam, last name of novak because i'm not creative, some smut, whoa this is short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel is a government assassin who happens upon a beautiful blues singer while on a job in Chicago.  What should have been a one-and-done takes an interesting turn when Gabriel finds the singer in a club a few years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Outta Here

The first time Gabriel saw him was on a job, when he walked into a rundown bar in Chicago. The band was playing slow, a man with striking green eyes blowing the harp mournfully behind him, and the man that'd caught his eye was singing.

Well, if it could be called that. 

The way Gabriel saw it, the blues singer was possibly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. The man's broad shoulders strained against his black suit jacket and his legs went on for miles, covered in fitted black trousers, nearly straddling mic stand. Narrow lips hovered obscenely over the mouthpiece while he crooned lyrics of heartbreak. And damn if that voice wasn’t like sweet Southern honey.

 _Jesus_ , he was really something.

Gabriel felt his mouth dry up, so he ordered a double from the bartender before he turned to watch and keep an eye out for his target. Really, the mark wasn’t supposed to show today anyway, but better safe than sorry… 

_"My baby well she left me, left me down, down in the gutter now. Ain't no happiness, now that my baby's gone away."_

Oh, fuck the mark. Gabriel felt his mouth hang slack as the man's eyes swept the room and stopped on him, caressing a sensuous line from his ears to his toes. He smirked at Gabriel while the harmonica player belted a phrase or two, then he shut his eyes and ground out the next few lyrics in a smooth, spine-tingling bass. Gabriel decided the job could wait. No way in hell he was missing this show.

_"I miss her right, I miss her true, but don't miss her enough to stop, stop thinkin of you._  
_Ya snuck under my skin now, now my baby's gone away. So come on in now oh lord! Tell me that you'll stay."_

His green-hazel eyes opened and pinned Gabriel to the bar. Gabriel licked his lips and took long drink of his bourbon, but he couldn't quite tear his eyes away. 

_"It's so lonesome in my room now, now that my baby's come and gone. So why don't you crawl on in now and make, make yourself at home?"_

Gabriel could see the harp blower's green eyes flick up to the singer, a frown creasing his brow, but he ended the song with a final riff and Legs—Gabriel mentally dubbed him—smiled like nothing out of the ordinary'd happened. The bar's meager patronage whistled and clapped, but Gabriel was sure he whistled the loudest as the singer bowed and shuffled his way off the little stage. A short, nervous looking man took the mic and said, "Ladies and gents, give it up one more time for Sam and Dean, the Winchester Brothers!"

Some of the girls in the bar howled and Gabriel whistled again. Brothers, huh? Well... 

"Up next, Devil's Comin’!” the announcer said. “I'm Chuck, don't you go nowhere now."

At last, Gabriel turned back to the bar and finished his bourbon in one long swallow. The red headed bartender shot him a cheeky smile and poured him another double as he sat back on the stool, feeling the barrel of his gun press against his back. Gabriel surreptitiously glanced down the bar to the back door only to see Legs and his brother shuffle out into the room. Most of the patrons smiled and congratulated them on a great show. One or two sidled closer, looking the brothers up and down invitingly. To Gabriel’s surprise, each was turned away with a polite smile and a wave. The brother whispered something in Legs’ ear, making him grin and laugh softly. Gabriel almost groaned when he saw dimples.

Of _fucking_ course.

The brother gestured and made to leave but Legs shook his head, taking a seat at the end of the bar instead. The bartender clinked a glass down in front of him, teasing him and pouring a glass of whiskey, then sauntered back down to Gabriel’s end.

“You should go say somethin’,” he heard the bartender say after a moment.

He gave her a sardonic look. “Looks like he just shot down everyone that already tried. Don’t think I’ll have much a chance,” he said with a shark-like smile.

The bartender snorted. “Bull,” she said, wiping a glass nonchalantly. “I never seen him sing like that before, so I’m chalking up to you.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened a bit and he looked down the bar again. Legs was sitting at the end, knees spread, sipping his whiskey easy as you please.

“Ah, what the hell,” Gabriel growled, downing his bourbon and sliding off his chair.

Legs glanced at him with a tentative smile as he approached and Gabriel melted just a bit. Shit, if he was gonna do this, might as well treat him right; sweet boys like him liked a little love.

“This seat taken?” Gabriel asked with a flirtatious arch to his eyebrow.

Legs swallowed the rest of his whiskey and clapped the glass on the counter. “Help yourself,” he said, letting his eyes look Gabriel up and down.

 _God_ , that voice was just as gorgeous talking as it was singing, deep and twanging with just a hint of Texas drawl. Gabriel snaked up onto the barstool and sat back easily.

“Another?” he asked, gesturing to the empty glass.

“If you’re buyin’.”

He grinned and motioned for the bartender. “Gabriel,” he said, extending his hand.

“Sam.”

A large hand enveloped his in a firm grip, and Gabriel shivered just a bit. He could imagine all sorts of fun things he could do with those… Maybe later.

“You were really something up there,” Gabriel murmured, releasing Sam’s hand and grabbing his drink so his fingers wouldn’t start inching their way up Sam’s thigh.

Sam smiled again. “Thank ya kindly. Just tryin’ to get myself out on the scene.”

Gabriel hummed noncommittally and watched Sam’s lips as he took a drink. “You been here long?”

“Just rolled in yesterday,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“Gonna be here long?” Gabriel asked as nonchalantly as he could.

Sam licked his lips and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “Depends on who’s askin’,” he said, clacking his empty glass on the bar and raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“Meanin’ I might get to show you a good time ‘round Chicago?” Gabriel said. “I’m real good company.”

Sam’s eyes sparked with interest. “I reckon you might be,” he said lowly.

Gabriel let a feral grin steal over his face and tossed back his bourbon in one swallow. “Then why don’t you and I get outta here?”

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel wrapped his legs around Sam’s waist as he slammed him against the wall of the hotel room. He moaned low in his throat, feeling his gun dig into his back and Sam’s tongue dip into his mouth.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned as Sam moved down and sucked a dark mark into the skin of his neck.

“That’s the idea, generally,” Sam murmured into his shoulder.

Gabriel huffed a laugh and felt Sam smile against his skin. He braced himself against the wall and Sam’s hands on his ass to open the buttons of Sam’s shirt and pulled loose his tie. When he finally got his fingers under Sam’s clothes, the singer groaned at the touch. Gabriel wrapped an arm around Sam’s back, threaded his fingers through his hair, and yanked the crooner’s head back. From his vantage point, he could see Sam’s pupils dilate, so he tugged a little harder. When he gasped, Gabriel fit his lips against Sam’s and bit down on his bottom lip.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Sam breathed, panting harshly when Gabriel nipped his ear.

“Bed,” he growled, and Sam scrambled to let him down. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Gabriel crowded Sam back and shoved him onto the mattress, watching him bounce with no little amount of lust. Then, he followed, crawling up and pinning Sam’s beautiful hands above his head.

“You ready?” Gabriel murmured as he ground his hips into Sam’s and looked down on him.

Sam’s long brown hair lay tangled on the bed underneath him, neck littered with angry red marks, and he looked wrecked already. Despite his debauched look though, there was still a glimmer of softness, of innocence in his eyes and Gabriel melted a little further.

“Yeah,” Sam said hoarsely. “…yeah.”

Gabriel snapped at the crack in that mellifluous voice and took everything Sam would give, again and again. And if he left a number on a scrap of paper and a kiss on Sam’s forehead when he left the singer sleeping in the morning sun, well…no one had to know.

 

* * *

 

It was a few years before Gabriel saw Sam again. This time, he was in a much, much nicer club on 43rd Street, dressed in a sinfully white suit and red silk tie. Gabriel slipped into the club just as Sam and his band finished a song, carefully adjusted his nondescript jacket to hide the shoulder holster he’d strapped on, and looked around coolly. His mark was sitting at a stage-side table, looking drunkenly up at Sam.

Perfect.

Gabriel took a quick look at where the attendants were and slipped into the back, placing a white towel on his arm and grabbing a tray. He stopped at a couple tables on the way to the mark, filling up his tray with empty glasses and trying not to be distracted by Sam.

“Refill, sir?” Gabriel asked as he bent to the mark’s ear. The man didn’t turn, didn’t take his eyes off Sam, just shoved his glass in Gabriel’s direction. He smirked, delicately plucking the glass from the man’s sweaty fingers. He pointedly ignored Sam’s honeyed voice and sauntered up to the bartender.

“Bombay, Jameson, and vodka martini with a twist, my man,” he murmured, sliding the empty glasses over.

The barman raised an eyebrow but filled the drinks, too busy to really do more than give him a short look. A quick turn about the room, a little slip of the hand, and the mark’s drink was back in his grip. Of course, now it was laced with distilled aconite, enough to guarantee he’d be dead within the next six hours when Gabriel himself would be long gone. He was to the bar by the time Sam’s song ended to thunderous applause, snagging a fresh martini and sauntering back to the stage. He was fairly certain Sam hadn’t seen him, yet. The crooner turned and muttered a few words to the band behind then, he heard Sam speak.

“This tune was originally called ‘Weed Smoker’s Dream,’ performed by the Harlem Hamfats in the 30s. It’s recently been masqueradin’ under a new name as a very, very popular ladies’ tune. Couldn’t let ‘em have all the fun,” Sam said with a wink, eliciting hoots and whistles from the audience, “ so this last one is for a special someone in the crowd tonight. Here’s ‘Why Don’t You Do Right?’, with my own little twist.”

Sam sniffed and nodded at the double bass player with tousled black hair behind him. The man smirked and started in with a slow, smooth tune and his brother snapped quietly, harmonica forgotten in his hand while he watched the bassist’s fingers.

_“You…”_

The first notes out of his lips were sensuous and soft, making the room fall silent in an effort to hear. Gabriel sat forward on his chair, looking surreptitiously for whoever Sam had called out, but everyone seemed to think it was for them.

_“You…had plenty money in 1952_  
_You let some women make a…fool of you_  
_Why don't you do right, like some other men do_  
_Get out of here and get me some money too…”_

Gabriel shivered, staring spellbound at Sam. He was a little jazzier than he’d been at the bar where Gabriel’d last seen him, but the slow, sultry tune sizzled through over his lips and into Gabriel’s veins.

_“You're sittin' down and wonderin' what this’ all about_  
_You don’t need to worry, I won’t put you out_  
_Why don't you do right, like some other men do?_  
_Let’s get out of here, get me some honey too…”_

Sam cocked his head in Gabriel’s direction, pinning him with those eyes like he had the first time Gabe’d ever seen him, and the assassin felt his trousers tighten uncomfortably. Fuck, it was him. Sam was singing to him.

_“I…fell for your jivin' and I took you in_  
_Now all you got to offer me's a…drink of gin_  
_Why don't you do right, like some other men do_  
_Get me outta here, give me your lovin’ too…”_

Sam stepped away from the mic and his brother brought the harmonica to his mouth, blowing out the melody in true blues fashion. After a couple bars, Sam rejoined him, scatting and humming and growling. Then, the rest of the band started in with a crash on the hi-hat and Sam pounded out the next verse, bending the mic stand near parallel to the floor in his fervor.

_“If you stayed home just…two years ago!_  
_You wouldn't be a-wanderin' now from door to door!_  
_Why don't you do right, like some other men do?_  
_Get me outta here, give me your lovin’ too…”_

He paused, band rising to a frenzied cacophony behind him.

_“Why don't you do righ-tah?!”_

Suddenly, there was silence. A beat. Then, the bassist started with the same soft riff and Sam sucked in a sharp breath, crooking a finger in Gabriel’s direction and singing as soft as a whisper, _“Like some other men do…_ ”

The club erupted into cheers and applause when the last note finally ended, but all Gabriel could do was stare. _Holy shit. Holy **shit**_. Sam smirked down at him, then took a bow, catching a few flowers that got tossed his way. At last, when the band was shuffling off the stage, Gabriel snapped into action. He burst into the back room, dodging the staff and ropes until he found the VIP lounge, and Sam sitting in a plush chair with his back to him. Gabriel stalked around the edge of the room until he could lean down and brush his lips against the singer’s ear.

“Miss me, kiddo?” he asked in a low voice.

Sam jumped. He scrambled out of his chair and, when he saw Gabriel, a huge dimpled grin broke out over his face. “I…” he murmured. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere after that. Now,” Gabriel said, taking a step into Sam’s space, “didn’t you say something about getting out of here?”

Sam glanced at the people looking curiously at them, but when Gabriel offered him his hand, he pursed his lips decisively. He grabbed Gabriel’s arm and steered him out the back door, leaving a quick word with the bassist and snagging a set of keys. Then he strode to a sleek black car and nearly shoved Gabriel into the passenger seat before he peeled out of the parking lot.

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel could feel emotions, questions, circling under Sam’s skin as they drove. Instead of actually answering any of them, he just placed a hand on Sam’s thigh until the singer skidded into the driveway of a little white house. He dragged Gabriel in the door and, as soon as it was locked, he threw him back against it. His quick fingers opened the buttons of Gabriel’s jacket while his clever teeth found their way back to a spot on Gabriel’s neck. The assassin was honestly astounded that Sam had remembered that spot, and he groaned his appreciation as Sam crowded into his space.

“ _Why_ ,” Sam said in voice muffled by skin and fabric, “do you _always_ have a goddamn gun?”

Gabriel shoved his hands up Sam’s shirt and dug his fingers into the man’s obscene shoulders. “Better safe than sorry, Sammy,” he replied with a sharp nip to his ear. It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. Besides, if he really wanted to know, it could wait until later.

Sam groaned and pulled him away from the door. “What’s your last name?” he asked before he kissed him hard.

Gabriel laughed outright at that, but wrapped a leg behind Sam’s when he made to move away. “Novak,” he breathed against Sam’s lips. He slotted his mouth against Sam’s and dipped his tongue obscenely into the singer’s warm, welcoming heat in apology.

Sam shrugged out of his coat and vest, leaving them to lie on the floor as he loosened his tie and tugged Gabriel toward the back of the house. “Are you goin’ to run off on me again?”

Gabriel slipped off his shoes and hung his coat on the bathroom door before Sam hauled him into the bedroom. He carefully laid his gun on the side table and eased Sam back onto the pillows, covering him in filthy kisses before he answered.

“I don’t think so,” he replied at last, hovering just out of Sam’s reach.

“Oh?” Sam asked dazedly.

“Nah,” Gabriel verified lazily, circling his hips over Sam’s cock slowly. “I think I wanna have you for breakfast, too.”

Sam laughed breathlessly, leaning up to kiss him again.

And if Gabriel took a vacation and had Sam for breakfast for the next few weeks, well… He figured everyone could know.

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really love Chicago blues, and I can always picture Sam in that goddamn white suit singing in a club somewhere. Gabriel as an assassin was a surprise though. I would highly recommend listening to Casey Abrams cover of Why Don't You Do Right? while you read the end of this, because it's kind of what I imagine Sam to sound like! Also, I don't know anything about drinks. 
> 
> Self-edited as usual, so if you seem something, holler!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWqw2tc1Zpc


End file.
